My Partner of Celestic
by Juuhachigou-eighteen
Summary: Team Galactic grunt one-shot. People have been looking for that oddly drastic spaceman's cohort for a while now.


**Author**'**s Note**: This was actually the first Galactic one-shot I wrote. Originally I didn't plan on uploading it, but hey, might as well show everything you got, right? If you review, again I ask, tell me any specific passages that confused you, or that you liked, any sort of reactions you had, what you thought of the characters, and please, tell me what I could do better.

Yes, you have met this grunt. Him and his silly suicidal bomb fetish.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of these characters, or the bomb, or the music track, or the obsessive cult sanity that is and or are the citizens of Celestic Town.

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"Now, where is my partner?"

It was such a simple, relaxed comment. The kid was smart…such a rare thing to see now a days, but he seemed to accept my words, and soon he gave up and walked back into the deep, warm silent dark. I was glad to have him gone. A few other people had grown wary of the bomb in my hands, my threat on the useless, near-empty hick town of Celestic, but they stood far away. Made sense -- it's so easy to be brave at a distance.

Oh, sure, sure, wipe out a town blathered in mythical ruins when your boss is hunting gods, I know exactly what you're thinking, but plain and simply, there was basically nothing left the guy could want to know or would even need to know, and all Celestic had was an ancient shrine dug into a mound of dirt which solely contained a single etching of the Spirit Trio but everyone praised and threw festivals around it anyway. I swear, if you said anything with a myth behind it kicked a rock, the townsfolk would all run over, take pictures, sketch it, film it, scan it for footprints, bag it, wrap it in a protective casing, and cherish it for all eternity.

For the last ten minutes I had been waiting for a cohort of mine to show up. See, since everything was going to be obliterated for the new world anyway, and since nothing could be gained from this town's existence, we thought, '_hey_, _why not speed it up bit_?' He was the guy with the switch, the dramatic 4-second countdown box. We had planned this whole thing out, right in the hallway of the Veilstone headquarters, right in the open. I mean, hell, no one objected, because even the boss and Commander Jupiter strolled by us and they must have heard what we said because when the two of us planned things it usually ended up that one of us ended up screaming and prancing around because this work was just _that_ exciting, you know? If the commanders were biding their time and slogging around waiting for the boss to give an A-OK fine by us, but jeez man, some of us don't want to wait!

It's three A.M. now, and I'm beginning to get a little worried. Quite cold, too, and tired. I mean, Eterna wasn't that far away. Really, he was just looting what remained of our fallen hideout, the laptops and the music track that looped through the intercom, so it should have taken him an hour at most. But he was a careful, precise guy. You couldn't get him to leave a room without checking everything was there or he had everything he needed or some crazy shit like that four times, so I figured it was the same sort of thing here. Hey, he might have even found some sort of hidden Pokémon storage compartment Commander Jupiter had concealed from us greedy grimy rats. It's obvious that they go through the donations and hand us the most worthless pieces of crud they can find, but oh, we've heard stories of the grand donors, the guys who really think we're just _**swell**_, and they give us _everything_. In that case, by all means, friend, take your time!

Five A.M.. All right, Shorn, this is getting ridiculous. Nine hours! What the flippin' hell, man? Did you be stupid again and try to pull the laptops in a friggen cart? Tree or honey get in your way? Not you, Shorn, you wouldn't be stopped by something as lazyassed as a tree, and you're damn picky about your women. So I'm feeling pretty irritated at this point. I can't feel my hands or my feet, and this thin, skin-tight uniform does as much as a wet blanket. The moonlight is gone, it's pitch black, but I need to warm up, warm up real bad, so I start walking around, thinking about all those phony overly-cheerful fitness videos. It doesn't help at all, so I try to run. Turning a corner, I trip over something, TWHACK, soft with one foot and hard on the other, there's a ticking noise, loud and rapid, by the second, almost piercing, an--  
My mind turns to ice.

He's dead.

So am I.


End file.
